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http://archive.org/details/christmasfairyOOwint 


"A  tall,  handsome  lady  came  in,  and 
Shivers  flew  to  her  arms." 


A  Christmas  Fairy 


BV 

JOHN  STRANGE  WINTER 

AND 

Other  Stories 

FRANCES  E.  CROMPTON 

AND 

MRS.   MOLESWORTH 


WITH   TWENTY-SEVEN    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY   ALTEMUS   COMPANY 


.  opyright.  igcx),  by  HENRY   ALTEAJUS  COMPANY 


Ito^B.  • 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 

^Uf  BY  JOHN   STRANGE  WINTER. 

1W 

Q?  f       T  was  getting  very  near  to  Christmas-time,  and  all 

the  boys  at  Miss  Ware's  school  were  talking  excitedly 

about  going  home  for  the  holidays,  of  the  fun  they 

_ would    have,    the   presents    they    would    receive   on 

Christmas  morning,  the  tips  from  Grannies,  Uncles, 

and  Aunts,  of  the  pantomimes,  the  parties,  the  never-ending 

joys  and  pleasures  which  would  be  theirs. 

"I  shall  go  to  Madame  Tussaud's  and  to  the  Drury  Lane 

pantomime,"  said  young  Fellowes,  "and  my  mother  will  give 

a  party,  and  Aunt  Adelaide  will  give  another,  and  Johnny 

Sanderson  and  Mary  Greville,  and  ever  so  many  others.     I 

shall  have  a  splendid  time  at  home.     Oh !  Jim,  I  wish  it  were 

all  holidays  like  it  is  when  one's  grown  up." 

"My  Uncle  Bob  is  going  to  give  me  a  pair  of  skates — 

clippers,"  remarked  Harry  Wadham. 

"My  father's  going  to  give  me  a  bike,"  put  in  George 

Alderson. 

5 


6  A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 

"Will  you  bring  it  back  to  school  with  you?"  asked 
Harry. 

"Oh!  yes,  I  should  say  so,  if  Miss  Ware  doesn't 
say  no." 

"I  say.  Shivers,"  cried  Fellowes,  "where  are  you  going  to 
spend  your  holidays?" 

"I'm  going  to  stop  here,"  answered  the  boy  called  Shivers, 
in  a  very  forlorn  tone. 

"Here — with  old  Ware? — oh,  my!  Why  can't  vou  go 
home?" 

"I  can't  go  home  to  India,"  ansvv'ered  Shivers — his  real 
name,  by  the  bye,  was  Egerton,  Tom  Egerton. 

"No — who  said  you  could  ?  But  haven't  you  any  relations 
anywhere?" 

Shivers  shook  his  head.  "Only  in  India,"  he  said 
miserably. 

"Poor  old  chap;  that's  rough  luck  for  you.  Oh,  I'll  tell 
you  what  it  is,  you  fellows,  if  I  couldn't  go  home  for  the 
holidays — especially  at  Christmas — I  think  I'd  just  sit  down 
and  die." 

"Oh!  no,  you  wouldn't,"  said  Shivers;  "you'd  hate  it,  and 
you'd  get  ever  so  home-sick  and  miserable,  but  you  wouldn't 
die  over  it.  You'd  just  get  through  somehow,  and  hope  some- 
thing would  happen  before  next  3'ear,  or  that  some  kind  fairy 
or  other  would " 

"Bosh !  there  are  no  fairies  nowadays,"  said  Fellowes. 
"See  here.  Shivers,  I'll  write  home  and  ask  my  mother  if  she 
won't  invite  you  to  come  back  with  me  for  the  holidays." 

"Will  you  really?" 

"Yes,  I  will :  and  if  she  says  yes,  we  shall  have  such  a 
splendid  time,  because,  you  know,  we  live  in  London,  and  go 
to  everything,  and  have  heaps  of  tips  and  parties  and  fun." 

"Perhaps  she  will  say  no,"  suggested  poor  little  Shivers, 


A   CHRISTMAS  FAIRY.  7 

who  had  steeled  himself  to  the  idea  that  there  would  be  no 
Chi'istmas  holidays  for  him,  excepting  that  he  would  have  no 
lessons  for  so  man)'  weeks. 

"My  mother  isn't  at  all  the  kind  of  woman  wlfo  says  no," 
Fellowes  declared  loudly. 

in  a  few  days'  time,  however,  a  letter  arrived  from  his 
iiiother,  which  he  opened  eagerly. 

"ily  own  darling  boy,"  it  said,  "I  am  so  very  sorry  to 
have  to  tell  you  that  dear  little  Aggie  is  down  with  scarlet 
fever,  and  so  you  cannot  come  home  for  your  holidays,  nor 
yet  bring  your  young  friend  with  you,  as  I  would  have  loved 
you  to  do  if  all  had  been  well  here.  Your  Aunt  Adelaide 
\\'ould  have  had  you  there,  but  her  two  girls  have  both  got 
scarlatina — and  I  believe  Aggie  got  hers  there,  though,  of 
course,  poor  Aunt  Adelaide  could  not  help  it.  I  did  think 
about  your  going  to  Cousin  Rachel's.  She  most  kindly  offered 
to  invite  you,  but,  dear  boy,  she  is  an  old  lady,  and  so  partic- 
ular, and  not  used  to  boys,  and  she  lives  so  far  from  anything 
which  is  going  on  that  you  would  be  able  to  go  to  nothing, 
so  3'our  father  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  very 
best  thing  that  you  could  do  tinder  the  circumstances  is  for 
you  to  stay  at  Miss  Ware's  and  for  us  to  send  your  Christmas 
to  you  as  Avell  as  Ave  can.  It  won't  be  like  being  at  home, 
darling  boy,  but  you  will  try  and  be  happy — -won't  you,  and 
make  me  feel  that  you  are  helping  me  in  this  dreadful  tim.e. 
Dear  little  Aggie  is  very  ill,  very  ill  indeed.  We  have  two 
nurses.  Nora  and  Connie  are  shut  aAvay  in  the  morning-room 
and  to  the  back  stairs  and  their  OAvn  rooms  with  Miss  Ellis, 
and  have  not  seen  us  since  the  dear  child  was  first  taken  ill. 
Tell  your  young  friend  that  I  am  sending  you  a  hamper  from 
Buszard's,  with  double  of  everything,  and  I  am  writing  to  Miss 
Ware  to  ask  her  to  take  you  both  to  anything  that  may  be 


8  A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 

going  on  in  Cross  Hampton.    And  tell  him  that  it  makes  me 
so  much  happier  to  think  that  you  won't  be  alone. — 

,,  "Your  own  Mother." 

"This  letter  will  smell  queer,  darling ;  it  will  be  fumigated 
before  posting." 

It  must  be  owned  that  when  Bertie  Fellowes  received  this 
letter,  which  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  shattering  of 
all  his  Christmas  hopes  and  joys,  that  he  fairly  broke  down, 
and  hiding  his  face  upon  his  arms  as  they  rested  on  his  desk, 
sobbed  aloud.  The  forlorn  boy  from  India,  who  sat  next  to 
him,  tried  every  boyish  means  of  consolation  that  he  could 
think  of.  He  patted  his  shoulder,  whispered  many  pitying 
words,  and,  at  last,  flung  his  arm  across  him  and  hugged  him 
tightly,  as,  poor  little  chap,  he  himself  many  times  since  his 
arrival  in  England,  had  ivished  someone  would  do  to  him. 

At  last  Bertie  Fellowes  thrust  his  mother's  letter  into  his 
friend's  hand.    "Read  it,"  he  sobbed. 

So  Shivers  made  himself  master  of  Mrs.  Fellowes'  letter 
and  understood  the  cause  of  the  boy's  outburst  of  grief.  "Old 
fellow,"  he  said  at  last,  "don't  fret  over  it.  It  might  be 
worse.  Why,  j^ou  might  be  like  me.  with  your  father  and 
mother  thousands  of  miles  away.  When  -A-ggie  is  better,  you'll 
be  able  to  go  home — and  it'll  help  your  mother  if  she  thinks 
you  are  almost  as  happy  as  if  you  were  at  home.  It  must  be 
worse  for  her — she  has  cried  ever  so  over  her  letter — see,  it's 
all  tear-blots." 

The  troubles  and  disappointments  of  youth  are  bitter  while 
they  last,  but  they  soon  pass,  and  the  sun  shines  again.  By  the 
time  Miss  Ware,  who  was  a  kind-hearted,  sensible,  pleasant 
woman,  came  to  tell  Fellowes  how  sorry  she  was  for  him  and 
his  disappointment,  the  worst  had  gone  by.  and  the  boy  was 
resigned  to  what  could  not  be  helped. 


A  CHRISTMAS   FAIRY. 


"Well,  after  all,  one  man's  meat  is  anoth^TMn's  poison, 
she  said,  smiling  down  on  the  two  boys;  "poor  Tom  has 
been  looking  forward  to  spending  his  holidays  all  alone  with 
us,  and  now  he  will  have  a  friend  with  him.  Try  to  look  on 
the  bright  side,  Bertie,  and  to  remember  how  much  worse  it 
would  have  been  if  there  had  been  no  boy  to  stay  with  you." 

"I  can't  help  being  disappointed,  Miss  Ware,"  said  Bertie, 
his  eyes  filling  afresh  and  his  lips  quivering. 

"No,  dear  boy,  you  would  be  anything  but  a  nice  boy  if 
you  were  not.  But  I  want  you  to  try  and  think  of  your  poor 
mother,  who  is  full  of  trouble  and  anxiety,  and  to  write  to  her 
as  brightly  as  you  can,  and  tell  her  not  to  worry  about  ypu  more 
than  she  can  help." 

"Yes,"  said  Bertie;  but  he  turned  his  head  away,  and  it 
was  evident  to  the  school-mistress  that  his  heart  was  too  full 
to  let  him  say  more. 

Still,  he  was  a  good  boy,  Bertie  Fellowes,  and  when  he 

2 — Christniar.   Ftiiry. 


lO  A  CHRISIMAS  FAIRY. 

wrote  home  to  his  mother  it  was  quite  a  bright  every-day  kind 
of  letter,  telling  her  how  sorry  he  was  about  Aggie,  and  detail- 
ing a  few  qf  the  ways  in  which  he  and  Shivers  meant  to  spend 
their  holidays.     His  letter  ended  thus  : — • 

"Shivers  got  a  letter  from  his  mother  yesterday  with  three 
pounds  in  it :  if  you  happen  to  see  Uncle  Dick,  will  you  tell 
him  I  want  a  'Waterbury"  dreadfully?" 

The  last  day  of  the  term  came,  and  one  by  one,  or  two  by 
two,  the  various  boys  went  awa}^  until  at  last  only  Bertie 
Fellowes  and  Shivers  were  left  in  the  great  house.  It  had 
never  appeared  so  large  to  either  of  them  before.  The  school- 
room seemed  to  have  grown  to  about  the  size  of  a  church,  the 
dining-room,  set  now  with  only  one  table  instead  of  three,  was 
not  like  the  same,  while  the  dormitory,  which  had  never  before 
had  any  room  to  spare,  was  like  a  wilderness.  To  Bertie 
Fellowes  it  was  all  dreary  and  wretched — to  the  boy  from 
India,  who  knew  no  other  house  in  England,  no  other  thought 
came  than  that  it  was  a  blessing  that  he  had  one  companion 
left.  "It  is  miserable,"  groaned  poor  Bertie  as  they  strolled 
into  the  great  echoing  school-room  after  a  lonely  tea.  set  at  one 
corner  of  the  smallest  of  the  three  dining-tables ;  "just  think 
if  we  had  been  on  our  way  home  now — ho"\v  dififerent !" 

"Just  think  if  T  had  been  left  here  by  myself,"  said  Shivers 
- — and  he  gave  a  shiver  which  fully  justified  his  name. 

"Yes — but "  began  Bertie,  then  shamefacedly  and  with 

a  blush,  added,  "you  know,  when  one  wants  to  go  home  ever 
so  badly,  one  never  thinks  that  some  chaps  haven't  got  a  home 
to  go  to." 

The  evening  went  by — discipline  was  relapsed  entirely  and 
the  two  boys  went  to  bed  in  the  top  empty  dormitory,  and 
told  stories  to  each  other  for  a  long  time  before  they  went 
to  sleep.  That  night  Bertie  Fellowes  dreamt  of  Madame 
Tussaud'?  and  the  great  pantomime  at  Drury  Lane,  and  poor 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 


II 


Shivers  of  a  long  creeper-covered  bungalow  far  away  in  the 
shining  East,  and  they  both  cried  a  little  under  the  bed-clothes. 
Yet  each  put  a  brave  face  on  their  desolate  circumstances  to  the 
other,  and  so  another  day  began. 


This  was  the  day  before  Christmas  Eve,  that  delightful 
day  of  preparation  for  the  greatest  festival  in  all  the  year — 
the  day  when  in  most  households  there  are  many  little  mysteries 
afoot,  when  parcels  come  and  go,  and  are  smothered  away  so 


12  A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 

as  to  be  ready  when  Santa  Claus  comes  his  rounds ;  when  some 
are  busy  decking  the  rooms  with  holly  and  mistletoe :  when  the 
cook  is  busiest  of  all,  and  savoury  smells  rise  from  the  kitchen, 
telling  of  good  things  to  be  eaten  on  the  morrow. 

There  were  some  preparations  on  foot  at  Minchin  House, 
though  there  was  not  the  same  bustle  and  noise  as  is  to  be 
found  in  a  large  faniil}'.  And  quite  early  in  the  morning  came 
the  great  hamper  of  which  Mrs.  Fellowes  had  spoken  in  her 
letter  to  Bertie.  Then  just  as  the  early  dinner  had  come  to 
an  end,  and  Aliss  Ware  was  telling  the  two  boys  that  she  would 
take  them  round  the  town  to  look  at  the  shops,  there  was  a 
tremendous  peal  at  the  bell  of  the  front  door,  and  a  voice  was 
heard  asking  for  Master  Egerton  In  a  trice  Shivers  had 
sprung  to  his  feet,  his  face  quite  white,  his  hands  trembling, 
and  the  next  moment  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  tall 
handsome  lady  came  in,  to  whom  He  flew  with  a  sobbing  cry 
of  "Aunt  Laura !   Aunt  Laura !" 

Aunt  Laura  explained  in  less  time  than  it  takes  me  to  write 
this,  that  her  husband.  Colonel  Desmond,  had  had  left  to  him 
a  large  fortune  and  that  they  had  come  as  soon  as  possible 
to  England,  having,  in  fact,  only  arrived  in  London  the 
previous  day.  "I  was  so  afraid,  Tom  darling,"  she  said  in 
ending,  "that  we  should  not  get  here  till  Christmas  Day  was 
over,  and  I  was  so  afraid  you  might  be  disappointed,  that  I 
would  not  let  Mother  tell  you  we  were  on  our  way  home. 
I  have  brought  a  letter  from  Mother  to  Miss  Ware —  and  you 
must  get  your  things  packed  up  at  once  and  come  back  with 
me  by  the  six  o'clock  train  to  town.  Then  Uncle  Jack  and 
I  will  take  you  everywhere,  and  give  you  a  splendid  time,  you 
dear  little  chap,  here  all  by  yourself." 

For  a  minute  or  two  Shivers'  face  was  radiant;  then  he 
caught  sight  of  Bertie's  down-drooped  mouth,  and  turned  to 
his  Aunt. 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 


13 


"Dear  Aunt  Laura,"  he  said,  holding  her  hand  very  fast 
with  his  o^/n,  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  can't  go." 

"Can't  go?  and  why  not?" 

"Because  I  can't  go  and  leave  Fellowes  here  all  alone,"  he 
said  stoutly,  though  he  could  scarcely  keep  a  suspicious  quaver 
out  of  his  voice.     "When  I  was  going  to  be  alone,  Fellowes 


wrote  and  asked  his  mother  to  let  me  go  liome  with  him,  and 
she  couldn't,  because  his  sister  has  got  scarlet  fever,  and  they 
daren't  have  either  of  us ;  and  he's  got  to  stay  here — and  he's 
never  been  away  at  Christmas  before — and — and — I  can't  go 
away  and  leave  him  by  himself,  Aunt  Laura — and — " 

For  the  space  of  a  moment  or  so,  Mrs.  Desmond  stared 


14 


A   CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 


at  the  boy  as  if  she  could  not  believe  her  ears;  then  she  caught 
hold  of  him  and  half  smothered  him  with  kisses. 

"Bless  you,  you  dear  little  chap,  you  shall  not  leave  him: 
you  shall  bring  him  along  and  we'll  all  enjoy  ourselves 
together.  \\' hat's  his  name  ?— Bertie  Fellowes !  Bertie,  my 
man,  you  are  not  very  old  yet,  so  I'm  going  to  teach  you  a 
lesson  as  well  as  ever  I  can — it  is  that  kindness  is  never  wasted 
in  this  world.  I'll  go  out  now  and  telegraph  to  your  mother — 
I  don't  suppose  she  will  refuse  to  let  you  come  with  us." 

A  couple  of  hours  later  she  returned  in  triumph,  waving  a 
telegram  to  the  two  excited  boys. 

"God  bless  you,  yes,  until  all  our  licarts,"  it  ran ;  "you  have 
taken  a  load  off  our  minds." 


And  so  Bertie  Fellowes  and  Shivers  found  that  there  was 
such  a  thins:  as  a  fairv  after  all. 


0-A\oL\'^v^^crr/[ 


V. 


PART   I. 

^  ELENA   FRERE  and   her  two  younger  brothers, 

Willie  and  Leigh,  were  on  the  whole  very  good 

children.    They  were  obedient  and  affectionate  and 

very  truthful.    Perhaps  it  was  not  very  difficult  for 

them  to  be  good,  for  they  had  a  happy  home,  wise 

and  kind  parents,  and  a  quiet  regular  life.    None  of 

them  had  ever  been  at   school,   for  Mrs.   Frere  liked  home 

teaching  best  for  girls,  and  the  little  boys  were  as  yet  too  young 

for  anything  else.    Willie  was  only  seven  and  a  half,  and  Leigh 

six.    Helena  was  nearly  ten. 

They  lived  in  the  country — quite  in  the  country,  and  a 

rather  lonely  part  too.     So  they  had  almost  no  companions 

of  their  own  ag^e,  and  the  few  there  were  within  reach  they 

seldom  saw.    One  family  in  the  neighborhood,  where  there 

were  children,   alwa3'S   spent  seven  months  abroad;   another 

home  was  saddened  by  the  only  son  being  a  cripple  and  unable 

15 


l6  NOT   QUITE    TRUE. 

to  walk  or  play;  and  the  boys  and  girls  of  a  third  family  were 
rather  too  old  to  be  playfellows  with  our  little  people. 

"It  really  seems,"  said  Helena  sometimes,  "it  really  seems 
as  if  I  was  never  to  have  a  proper  friend  of  my  own.  It's  much 
worse  for  me  than  for  Willie  and  Leigh,  for  they've  got  each 
other,"  which  was  certainly  true. 

Still,  she  was  not  at  all  an  unhappy  little  girl,  though 
she  was  very  sorry  for  herself  sometimes,  and  did  not  always 
quite  agree  with  her  Alother  when  she  told  her  that  it  was 
better  to  have  no  companions  than  any  whom  she  could  not 
thoroughly  like. 

"I  don't  know  that.  Mamma,"  Helena  would  reply.  "It 
would  be  nice  to  have  other  little  girls  to  play  with,  even  if 
they  weren't  quite  perfection." 

You  can  easily  imagine  therefore  that  there  was  great 
excitement  and  delight  when  these  children  heard,  one  day, 
that  a  new  family  was  coming  to  live  in  the  very  next  house 
to  theirs — only  about  half  a  mile  ofif,  by  a  short  cut  across  the 
Park — and  that  in  this  family  there  were  children !  There 
were  four — Nurse  said  three,  and  old  Mrs.  Betty  at  the  lodge, 
who  was  Nurse's  aunt,  and  rather  a  gossip,  said  four.  But 
both  were  sure  of  one  thing — that  the  newcomers — the  children 
of  the  family,  that  is  to  say — were  just  about  the  right  ages 
for  "our  young  lady  and  gentlemen." 

And  before  long,  Helena  and  her  brothers  were  able  to 
tell  Nurse  and  Mrs.  Betty  more  than  they  had  told  them. 
For  Mrs.  Frere  called  at  Hailing  ^'^^ood,  which  was  the  name 
of  the  neighboring  house,  and  a  few  days  afterwards,  Mrs. 
Kingley  returned  her  call,  and  fortunately  found  the  children's 
Mother  at  home.  So  all  sorts  of  questions  were  asked 
and  answered,  and  when  Helena  and  the  boys  came  in 
from  their  walk,  Mr:^  Frere  had  a  whole  budget  of  news 
for  them. 


NOT  QUITE  TRUE. 


I? 


There  were  four  Kingleys,  but  the  eldest  was  a  girl  of 
sixteen,  whom  the  children  put  aside  at  once  as  "no  good,"  and 
listened  impatiently  to  hear  about  the  others. 

"Next  to  Sybil,"  said  their  Mother,  "comes  Hugh; 
he  is  four  years  younger — only  twelve — and  then  Freda,  nearly 
eleven,  and  lastly  Maggie,  a  'tom-boy,'  her  Mother  calls  her, 
of  eight." 

"I  shall  like  her  awfully  if  she's  a  tom-boy,"  said  Helena 


very  decidedly,  while  Willie  and  I.eigh  looked  rather  puzzled. 
They  had  never  heard  of  a  tom-boy  before,  and  could  not 
make  out  if  it  meant  a  boy  or  a  girl,  till  afterwards,  when 
Helena  explained  it  to  them,  and  then  Willie  said  he 
had  thought  it  must  mean  a  girl,  "  'cos  of  Maggie  being  a 
girl's  name." 

"I  hope  3'ou  will  like  them  all,"  said  Mrs.  Frere.     "By 
their  Mother's  account  they  seem  to  be  very  hearty,  sensible 

3 — Christinas  Fairy. 


I8  '         NOT    QUITE   TRUE. 

children;  indeed,  she  says  they  are  just  a  httle  wild,  for  she 
and  Mr.  Kingley  have  been  a  great  deal  abroad,  and  the  three 
younger  children  were  for  two  years  with  a  lady,  who  was 
rather  too  old  to  look  after  them  properly." 

"How  dreadfully  unhappy  they  must  have  been,"  said 
Helena,  in  a  tone  of  pity. 

"No,"  said  her  Mother,  "I  don't  think  they  were  unhappy. 
On  the  contrary,  they  were  rather  spoilt  and  allowed  to  run 
wild.  Of  course  I  am  telling  you  this  just  as  a  very  little 
warning,  in  case  Hugh  and  his  sisters  ever  propose  to  do 
anything  you  do  not  think  I  should  like.  Do  not  give  in  for 
fear  of  vexing  them;  they  will  like  you  all  the  better  in  the 
end  if  they  see  you  try  to  be  as  good  and  obedient  out  of 
sight,  as  when  your  Father  and  I  are  with  you.  Do  you 
understand,  dears  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Helena,  "of  course  we  won't  do  anything 
naughty,  Mamma,"  though  in  her  heart  she  thought  that 
"running  wild"  sounded  rather  nice. 

"And  you  boys?"  added  their  Mother,  "do  you  under- 
stand, too?" 

"Yes,  Mamma,"  they  said,  Willie  adding,  "If  you're  not 
there  or  Nurse,  we'll  do  whatever  Nelly  says." 

"That's  right,"  said  Mrs.  Frere.  "Nelly,  you  hear? — 
the  responsibility  is  on  your  shoulders,  you  see,  dear, " 
but  she  smiled  brightly.  For  she  felt  sure  that  Helena  was  to 
be  trusted. 

It  had  been  arranged  by  the  two  Mammas  that  the  three 
Kingley  children  Avere  to  spend  the  next  afternoon  at  Hailing 
Park,  the  Frere's  home.  They  were  to  come  early,  between 
two  and  three,  and  their  Mother  and  Sybil  would  drive  ove\ 
to  fetch  them  about  five.  Some  other  friends  of  Mrs.  Frere's 
were  expected  too,  Vv'hich  would  give  Mrs.  Kingley  an  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  her  new  neighbors. 


NOT   QUITE  TRUE.  I9 

"Must  we  have  our  best  things  on  then,  Mamma?"  asked 
Helena,  rather  dolefuHy. 

Mrs.  Frere  glanced  at  her.  It  was  full  summer-time — 
late  in  June.  The  little  girl  looked  very  nice  in  a  pretty  pink- 
and  white  cotton,  though  it  could  not  have  passed  muster  as 
perfectly  fresh  and  spotless. 

"No,"  she  said,  "a  clean  frock  like  the  one  you  have  on 
will  do  quite  well — or  stay,  yes,  a  white  frock  would  be  nicer. 
And  tell  Nurse  that  the  boys  may  wear  their  white  serge  suits 
— it  is  so  nice  and  dry  out-of-doors  I  don't  think  they  could 
get  dirty  if  they  tried." 

And,  as  I  have  said  already,  the  little  Freres  were  not  at  all 
"wild"  children. 

To-morrow  afternoon  came  at  last,  and  with  it,  to  the 
delight  of  Helena  and  her  brothers,  the  expected  guests.  They 
arrived  in  a  pony-cart,  driven  by  Hugh,  who  seemed  quite 
in  his  element  as  a  coachman,  and  they  all  three  jumped 
out  very  cleverly  without  losing  any  time  about  it.  Mrs. 
Frere  and  her  three  were  waiting  for  them  on  the  lawn, 
but  anyone  looking  on  would  have  thought  that  the  King- 
leys  were  the  "at  home"  ones  of  the  party,  for  they  shook 
hands  in  the  heartiest  way,  and  began  talking  at  once,  while 
the  little  Freres  all  seemed  shy  and  timid,  and  almost 
awkward. 

Their  Mother  felt  just  a  little  vexed  with  them.  Then 
she  said  to  herself  that  she  must  remember  how  very  seldom 
they  had  had  any  playfellows,  and  that  it  was  to  be 
expected  that  they  would  feel  a  little  strange. 

"I  daresay  you  will  enjoy  playing  out  of  doors  far  more 
than  in  the  house,  as  it  is  such  a  lovely  day,"  she  said.  "Your 
Mamma  and  Sybil  will  be  coming  before  very  long,  will  they 
not?"  she  added,  turning  to  Freda. 

"About  four  o'clock,"  Freda  replied;    "but  I  don't  want 


20 


NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 


four  o'clock  to  come  too  soon ;  we  should  like  a  good  long 
time  for  playing  first." 

Mrs.  Frere  smiled. 

"Well,  it  is  scarcely  half-past  two  yet,"  she  said.  "When 
four  o'clock  or  half-past  four  comes,  I  daresay  you  will  not 
feel  sorry,  for  you  will  have  had  time  to  get  hungry  by  then." 

"All  right,"  said  Freda ;  "come  along  then,  Nelly,"  for  she 
had  already  caught  up  Helena's  short  name.  "Hugh  and 
Maggie  and  I  have  got  heaps  of  fun  in  our  heads." 

She  caught  hold  of  Helena's  hand  as  she  spoke  and 
started  off,  the  others  following.  Mrs.  Frere  stood  looking 
after  them  with  a  smile,  though  there  was  a  little  anxiety  in 
her  face  too. 

"I  hope  they  will  be  careful,"  she  thought;  "I  can 
trust  Helena,  but  these  children  are  rather  overpowering. 
Still,  it  would  scarcely  have  done  to  begin  checking  them  the 
moment  they  arrived. 


PART    II. 


'HE    grounds    of    Hailing    Park    were    very    large, 

the   lawns   and    flower-beds   near   the   house   were 

most   carefully   kept,    and   just   now   in   their   full 

summer  beauty.       The  first  thought  of  the  little 

Freres  was  to  show  their  new  friends  all  over  this 

ornamental  part,  for  the  Hailing  roses  were  rather  famed, 

and   Helena   knew   the   names   of   the  finest  and   rarest 

among  them. 

\But  Freda  Kingley  flew  past  the  rosebuds  without 
stopping  or  letting  Helena  stop,  and,  excited  by  her 
example,  the  three  boys  and  Maggie  came  rushing  after  them, 
till  the  run  almost  grew  into  a  race,  so  that  when  at  last  the 
very  active  young  lady  condescended  to  pull  up  to  take  breath, 
Helena  was  redder  and  hotter  than  she  had  ever  been  before 
in  her  life.  Indeed,  for  a  moment  or  two,  she  was  almost 
frightened — her  heart  beat  so  fast,  and  there  was  such  a 
"choky"  feeling  in  her  throat.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
stood  there  gasping. 

Freda  burst  out  laughing. 

"I  say,"  she  exclaimed,  "you're  in  very  bad  condition; 
isn't  she,  Hugh?" 

21 


22  NOT   QUITE  TRUE. 

Helena  stared,  which  made  Freda  laugh  still  more,  Hugh 
joining  her. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  said  the  little  girl  at 
last,  when  she  could  speak. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing  you  need  mind,"  said  Hugh  good- 
naturedly,  "It  only  means  you're  not  up  to  much  running — ■ 
you've  not  been  training  yourself  for  it.  Freda  was  nearly  as 
bad  once,  before  I  went  to  school;  she  didn't  understand,  you 
see.  But  the  first  holidays  I  took  her  in  hand,  and  she's  not  bad 
now — not  for  a  girl.    Fll  take  you  in  hand  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Helena;  "no,  I  don't  think  I  want 
to  be  taken  in  hand.  I  don't  care  to  run  so  fast.  Won't  you 
come  back  again  to  see  the  ilowers  near  the  house?  And  the 
tennis-court  is  very  nice  for  puss-in-the-corner  or  Tom 
Tiddler's  ground." 

"We  know  a  game  or  two  worth  scores  of  those  old- 
fashioned  things — don't  we,  Freda?"  said  Hugh.  "But  I 
daresay  the  tennis-ground's  rather  jolly,  if  it's  a  good  big  one; 
we  can  look  it  up  later  on.  First  of  all  I  want  to  see  the  stream. 
We  caught  sight  of  it;  it  looks  jolly  enough." 

"And  there's  a  bridge  across  it,"  said  Maggie,  speaking 
for  the  first  time,  "a  ducky  little  bridge.  It  would  be  fun 
to  stand  on  it  and  throw  stones  down  to  make  the  fishes 
jump." 

Willie  broke  in  at  this. 

"The  fish  aren't  so  silly,"  he  said.  "The  water-hens 
would  scatter  away,  I  daresay,  if  you  threw  stones.  But 
Papa  doesn't  like  us  to  startle  them,  so  it  would  be  no  good 
tr^nng." 

"^^^ater-hens !"  exclaimed  the  Kingley  children  all 
together.  "What  are  they  like?  Do  let's  go  and  look  at  them. 
We've  never  seen  any." 

"And  most  likely  we  won't  see  them  now,"  said  Helena. 


It  was  not  so  easy  to  get  down  by  the  bank." 


24  NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 

"They're  very  shy  creatures.     And  we  mustn't  startle  them, 
as  Wilhe  says." 

"Oh,  bother !"  said  Freda ;  it  wouldn't  hurt  them  for  once. 
And  who  would  know  ?    Anyway,  let's  go  to  the  bridge." 

And  off  she  set  again,  though  not  quite  so  fast.  Indeed, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  race  as  she  had  done  across 
the  lawn,  for  the  wa}'  to  the  stream  from  where  they  were 
standing,  lay  across  very  high  ground,  though  there  was  a 
proper  path,  or  road,  leading  to  the  bridge  if  they  had  not 
come  b)^  the  "cross-country"  route. 

It  was  very  pretty  when  they  got  there,  so  wild  and 
picturesque — you  could  have  imagined  yourself  miles  and 
miles  away  from  any  house,  in  some  lonely  stretch  of 
country.  Even  the  restless  Kingley  children  were  struck  by 
it,  and  stood  still  in  admiration  for  about  a  quarter 
of  a  minute. 

"I  say,  it's  awfully  jolly  heie,"  said  Hugh.  "I  wish 
we  had  a  stream  and  a  bridge  like  this  in  our  grounds." 

But  almost  immediately  he  began  fidgeting  about  again 
— leaning  over,  till  Helena  felt  sure  he  would  tumble  in,  and 
twisting  himself  about  to  see  what  there  was  to  be  seen  below 
them. 

"I  know  what  zvottld  be  fun,"  said  Freda  suddenly. 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  others. 

"Wading,"  she  replied.  "If  we  clamber  down  the  side  of 
the  bank — it  isn't  so  very  steep — we  could  get  right  under  the 
bridge.  There's  a  bit  of  dry  ground  at  each  side  of  the  water, 
isn't  there,  Hugh  ?  We  could  make  that  our  dressing-room, 
or  our  bathing-van,  whichever  you  like  to  call  it." 

"But,"  interrupted  Helena,  "you  couldn't  undress;  we've 
no  bathing-dresses,  and " 

"How  stupid  3^ou  are!"  interrupted  Freda,  in  her  turn. 
"We'd   have   to   take   off   our   shoes  and  stockings,  of  course, 


NOT   QUITE  TRUE.  25 

and  we  can't  do  that  on  the  sloping  bank;  under  the  bridge 
is  just  the  place.  And  we  can  pretend  it's  the  sea,  and  that 
we're  going  to  bathe  properl}-,  and  shiver  and  shudder  and 
push  each  other  in.  Oh!  it'll  be  great  fun — come  along, 
all  of  you,  do." 

And  somehow  she  got  them  all  to  go — not  that  she 
had  any'  difficulty  in  persuading  her  own  brother  and  sister ; 
they  were,  as  they  would  themselves  have  expressed 
it,  "up  to  anything" ;  but  the  three  Freres  knew  quite  well 
that  it  was  not  the  sort  of  play — especially  for  Helena — that 
their  Mother  would  have  approved  of.  It  was  very  muddy 
down  under  the  bridge,  and  the  paddling  about  in  cold 
fresh  water,  when  one  is  already  overheated,  is  not  a  very 
wholesome  thing  to  do.  Nor  were  they  dressed  for  this  sort 
of  play. 

But  Freda  and  Hugh  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  them. 
Helena  could  not  bear  to  be  laughed  at,  and  Willie  was  terribly 
afraid  of  being  thought  "soft"  by  a  real  schoolboy  like  Hugh. 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  get  down  by  the  bank  without  acci- 
dents, and  before  they  reached  the  "dressing-room,"  frocks  and 
knickerbockers  already  told  a  tale. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Freda,  "it'll  brush  ofif  when  its  dry,  and 
even  if  it  doesn't  cfgite,  you  can't  be  expected  never  to  get  the 
least  bit  dirty.  Now  let's  get  off  our  shoes  and  stockings  as 
quick  as  we  can,"  and  down  she  plumped  and  began  unbutton- 
ing her  own  shoes  without  further  ado. 

"I  think  I'd  rather  not  wade,"  said  Helena. 

"Oh.  what  rubbish !"  cried  Freda.  "In  I'll  go  first  and 
show  you  how  jolly  it  is,"  and  in  another  moment,  in  she  went, 
paddling  about  on  the  firmer  ground  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  after  some  very  muddy  slips  or  slides  to  get  there. 

"It's  all  right  once  you  get  out  here,"  she  called  back. 
"Awfully  jolly — as  cold  as  ice;  come  along." 

— ^Christmas  Fairy. 


26  NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 

And  in  a  few  minutes  all  six  children  were  waddling  about 
in  the  not  very  clear  water,  for  the  stirred-up  mud  at  the  edge 
had  quite  spoiled  the  look  of  things  for  the  time  being,  and 
I  am  sure  the  waterfowl,  and  the  fish,  and  even  the  water-rats 
were  extraordinarily  frightened  at  the  strange  things  that  were 
happening,  poor  dears! 

All  went  well,  or  fairly  well,  for  some  time,  though  little 
Leigh's  face  began  to  look  very  blue,  and  his  teeth  chattered, 
and  but  for  his  fear  of  being  thought  a  baby,  I  rather  think  he 
would  have  begun  to  cry. 

Helena  did  not  notice  him  for  some  time;  she  was  feeling 
a  little  giddy  and  queer  herself,  and  found  it  not  too  easy  to 
keep  her  skirts,  short  as  they  were,  out  of  the  water,  and  her- 
self on  her  feet.  There  were  some  sharp  pebbles  among  those 
that  made  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  she  had  never  before  tried 
walking  barefoot  out  of  doors,  even  on  a  smooth  surface,  and 
therefore  found  it  very  difficult. 

But  when  at  last  she  hapiJened  to  catch  sight  of  her  little 
brother,  she  started  violently  and  nearly  lost  her  balance.  "Go 
back  at  once,  Leigh,"  she  cried.  "Look  at  him,  Freda — he's 
all  white  and  blue." 

Freda  was  a  kind-hearted  girl,  and  she  too  was  startled. 

"Fll  take  him  to  the  bank — he'll  be  all  right  when  Lve 
rubbed  his  feet,"  she  exclaimed,  and  she  hurried  forward.  But 
for  all  her  good  intentions  she  only  made  matters  worse. 

Instead  of  taking  hold  of  the  child  to  help  him,  she  man- 
aged to  push  him  over — and  in  another  second  Leigh  wac 
floundering  in  the  mud  at  the  edge  of  the  little  stream! 


PART  III. 


r. 


OOR    Leigh!     What    an    object 
he  was ! 

At  first  the  three  Kingleys  burst 
out  laughing. 
J*^  But    when    Helena    and    Willie 

turned  upon  them  sharply,  they  quickly 
grew  serious,  for  they  were  far  from 
unkind  children,  and  the  sight  of  their 
little  friend's  real  distress  and  fear  made 
them   anxious    to    help    to    put    things    to 


right. 


"He's  as  white  as  a  sheet,"  said 
Helena,  who  was  almost  in  tears.  "And 
shivering  so.  Oh !  Leigh  dear,  do  you 
feel  very  bad?" 

"N-no,   don't   cry,    Nelly,"    said   the 
little     boy.      "It's — it's     my     jacket     and 
knickerbockers  I  mind  about." 

Freda  turned  him  round  promptly. 

"It's  only  on  one  side,"  she  said ;  "and  a  lot  of  it  will  brush 
off  the  jacket,  at  least,  and  after  all,  the  knickerbockers  can 
be  washed.  What  I  mind  about  is  you're  shivering  so. 
Sit  down,  young  man — here's  a  nice  dry  place,  and  I'll  give 
your  feet  a  good  rub." 

27 


28  NOT    QUITE   TRUE. 

So  she  did,  using  for  that  purpose  one  of  her  brother 
Hugh's  long  rough  stockings,  quite  lieedless  of  his  grumbKng. 
She  was  certainly  a  very  energetic  girl.  In  a  few  minutes 
Leigh's  feet  were  in  a  glow,  and  the  color  crept  back  to  his  face 
again,  and  he  left  off  shivering. 

"There  now,"  she  said,  "you  are  all  right  again,  or  at 
least  you  will  be,  when  you've  run  home  and  got  a  clean 
jacket.  After  all,  you're  quite  dry  underneath — the  mud  is 
thick  and  hasn't  soaked  through.  Now,  what  had  we  best 
do,  Xelly?" 

"Get  him  home  as  quick  as  possible  some  back  way, 
so  that  we  won't  meet  anyone,  I  should  saj^"  said  Hugh, 
as  he  drew  on  his  stockings,  ver}'  glad  to  have  recovered 
his  property. 

But  just  as  he  spoke,  there  came  a  well-known  sound — 
well  known  at  least  to  the  Frere  children,  for  it  was  their 
Mother's  voice  calling  them. 

"Nell-ly!  Nell-ly!  ^^^ill-ie!  Will!  where  are  you?"  it 
said. 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"It's  Mamma,"  said  Willie. 

"\\'hat  can  have  made  her  come  out  so  soon?"  said  Helena. 
"She  was  going  to  wait  till  the  other  ladies  came  to  tea,  and 
then  she  said  she  and  Sybil  would  stroll  out  with  them,  and 
see  what  we  were  doing  in  the  garden.  But  I  never  thought 
they'd  come  down  here — we  scarcely  ever  do,  "cos  Nurse  thinks 
we'll  fall  into  the  water." 

Nurse's  fears  were  not  without  reason,  were  they? 

"We  mustn't  be  seen  like  this,"  said  Freda,  "that's  certain. 
Let's  crouch  in  here  quite  quietly  for  a  minute  or  two,  till 
they're  out  of  the  way — don't  speak  or  anything.  Hush !  per- 
haps we  can  hear  their  voices." 

Hiding  from  Mamma  was  a  new  experience  to  Helena  and 


NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 


29 


her  brothers,  and  they  did  not  Hke  the  feehng  of  it.  But  just 
now  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  Freda  had  taken  it  all 
into  her  own  hands.     So  they  did  as  she  said. 

No   sound   of   voices   reached    them    for   some   moments, 


but  they  heard  footsteps  overhead.  Several  people  were 
crossing  the  bridge.  "Goodness  gracious,"  said  Freda,  in 
a  whisper,  "we've  only  just  hidden  ourselves  in  time.  Do 
come  closer,  and  don't  speak,  whatever  you  do,"  though  no 
one  had  been  speaking  but  herself. 


30  NOT    QUITE    TRUE. 

Then  the  steps  stopped,  and  a  faint  murmur  was  heard,  but 
not  loud  enough  to  distinguish  the  words;  and  then  the  new- 
comers' steps  moved  on  again. 

The  children  began  to  breathe  more  freely. 

"Better  stay  quiet  another  minute  or  two,"  said  Freda. 

But  Helena  was  not  happy  in  her  mind  about  little  Leigh. 

"It's  so  damp  and  chilly  in  here  under  the  bridge,"  she 
said  to  Freda.  "He's  sure  to  catch  cold  unless  he  gets  a 
run    in    the    sunshine." 

"He  must  be  awfully  delicate  then,",  said  Hugh,  with 
some  contempt  in  his  voice.  "You  should  see  the  wettings 
we  get — even  Maggie,  and  she's  a  girl." 

At  this  Leigh  grew  very  red,  and  Helena  found  he  was 
going  to  burst  out  cr3ang,  which  would  not  have  been  a  very 
good  way  of  showing  he  was  a  man,  I  consider. 

But  Freda  told  Hugh  not  to  talk  nonsense,  for  she  was 
sensible  enough  to  know  that  what  Helena  said  was  true. 

"I'll  peep  out  now,"  said  she,  "and  if  the  coast  is 
clear,  I'll  'cooey'  to  you  very  softly,  like  we  do  at  T  spy,' 
and  then  you  can  all  come  out.  I'll  wait  for  you  at  the 
top  of  the  bank.  It's  a  bother  to  go  up  it  and  down  and  up 
again — it's  such  slippery  work." 

She  peeped  out  as  she  said — cautiously  at  first;  then 
again  encouraged,  she  made  her  way  half  way  up  the  bank  and 
glanced  round  her. 

It  seemed  safe  enough. 

The  group  of  ladies  was  to  be  seen  at  some  little 
distance  now;  thev  were  returning  towards  the  house  by 
the  proper  road,  which  it  would  be  easy  for  the  children 
to    avoid. 

And  in  her  satisfaction,  Freda  gave  a  loud  "cooey" — 
much  louder  than  was  needed,  as  her  companions  were  close 
by. 


NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 


31 


Out  popped  all  the  heads 
from  below  the  bridge,  but 
before  their  owners  had  tune 
to  begin  to  climb  the  bank, 
they  were  stopped  by  a 
"Hush,"  and  an  energetic 
shake  of  the  head  from  ■■ 
Freda,  who  next,  greatly  to 
their  surprise,  flopped 
straight  down  among  the 
high  grass  at  the  top,  and 
lay  there  motionless  and 
quite  flat. 

The  reason  for  this  was 
soon    explained.      Again    came    the    crj' — "Nell-y!      Will-ie! 
Nell-y !"  from  Mrs.  Frere,  and  a  whistle,  which  Hugh  Kingley 
whispered  to  the  others  was  his  sister  Sybil's. 

"They've  heard  Freda's  cooey,'  "  he  said.  "What  a  goose 
she  was  to  call  so  loud !" 

Again  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stay  cjuiet,  which  was 
becoming  very  tiresome. 

The  Frere  children  began  to  think  that  their  ideas  of  "great 
fun,"  and  the  Kingley's,  did  not  at  all  agree. 

"Wasting  all  the  afternoon  in  this  nasty  damp  hole,  and 
risking  Leigh's  getting  really  ill,"  thought  Helena. 

And  at  last  she  sprang  up  and  called  out  to  Freda. 

"I  won't  stay  here  any  longer,"  she  cried.  "Whether  we 
are  scolded  or  not,  I  won't.    It  isn't  safe  for  Leigh." 

"How  cross  you  are !"  said  Freda  coolly.  "I  was  just  going 
to  tell  you  to  come  out.  I  think  it's  all  right  now ;  they've 
moved  on.  We  can  make  a  rush  for  the  house  across  the  grass, 
somehow,  can't  wc?  There  must  be  some  back  way  in,  where 
we  shouldn't  meet  anyone.    Then  3'ou  and  I  can  take  Leigh  up 


32  NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 

to  the  nursery  and  say  he  had  an  accident,  which  is  quite  true 
— and  when  he's  clean  again  he  can  come  out  to  us  and  your 
Mamma  needn't  know  anything  about  it.  The  rest  of  us  are 
all  quite  tidy — quite  as  tidy  as  can  be  expected  after  running 
about." 

Helena  did  not  reply.  She  was  feeling  too  annoyed  and 
vexed,  and  she  did  not  like  Freda's  wish  to  hide  what  had 
really  caused  their  troubles. 

But  she  took  Leigh  by  the  hand — Freda,  it  must  be  allowed, 
taking  him  kindly  by  the  other,  and  they  all  set  off  as  fast  as 
they  could  to  the  house.  They  could  not  go  quite  straight  for 
fear  of  being  seen;  they  had  to  "dodge"  once  or  twice,  but  in 
the  end  they  got  safely  there  without  meeting  anyone  more 
formidable  than  a  tradesman's  cart  driving  away  from  the 
stables,  or  an  under-gardener  laden  with  a  basketful  of 
vegetables. 

Xurse  looked  grave,  as  she  well  might  do,  when  she  saw 
Leigh's  plight.  But  Freda  had  a  very  pleasant  bright  manner, 
and  Nurse  was  quite  satisfied  with  her  explanations. 

And  as  the  run  home  had  brought  back  the  color  to  the 
little  boy's  cheeks,  nothing  much  was  said  as  to  the  fear  of  his 
having  caught  cold. 


wc< 


PART   IV. 


^OME  half  an  hour  or  so  afterwards,  all  the  party, 
the  children  included,  assembled  on  the  lawn  for 
tea. 

Nurse  had  seized  the  opportunity  of  Helena's  run- 
ning in  with  Leigh,  to  "tidy  her  up  a  bit,"  and  Freda 
"y  too  had  not  objected  to  a  little  setting  to  rights,  so  that 

*    ^  both  girls  looked  quite  in  order. 

^  And  Willie  and  Hugh  had  also  removed  all  traces 

of  their  adventures ;  only  Maggie  was  still  rather  rumpled  and 
crumpled,  but  as  she  was  counted  a  tom-boy  at  all  times,  it 
did  not  so  much  matter. 

"What  became  of  j'-ou  all,  this  afternoon?"  asked  Mrs. 

Frere.     "We  walked  down  to  the  bridge  to  look  for  you,  as 

one  of  the  men  said  he  had  seen  you  going  that  way.    And  I  am 

sure  I  heard  one  of  you  'cooeying' — did   I   not?     Yet   when 

il  called,  no  one  replied." 

5 — Chrisiiiias   Fairy.  g,*^ 


34  NOT    QLITE    TRUE. 

The  children  looked  at  each  other.  Mrs.  Frere  felt 
surprised. 

"What  is  the  mystery?"  she  said,  though  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,"    began    Freda,    "there    wasn't    any    mystery — we 

were  only "      She  stopped,  for  she  felt  that  Helena's  eyes 

were  fixed  on  her,  and  Freda  was  not  by  nature  an 
untruthful  child.  It  was  through  her  heedlessness  and 
wildness  that  she  often  got  into  what  she  would  have 
called  "scrapes,"  from  which  there  seemed  often  no  escape  but 
by  telling  falsehoods,  or  at  least  allowing  what  was  not  the  case 
to  be  believed. 

She  grew  red,  and  Mrs.  Frere,  feeling  that  it  was  not 
very  kind  to  cross-question  a  guest,  finished  her  sentence  for 
her. 

"Hiding?"  she  said.  "Were  you  hiding?"  though  she 
wondered  why  Freda  should  blush  and  hesitate  about  so 
simple  a  thing. 

"Yes,"  said  Helena  quickly,  replying  instead  of  Freda, 
"yes.  Mamma,  we  ivcre  hiding — under  the  bridge." 

At  the  moment  she  only  felt  glad  to  be  able  to  say 
what  /;;  z^'ords  was  true. 

For  hiding  they  certainly  had  been.  And  Mrs.  Frere, 
thoroughly  trusting  Flelena,  turned  away  and  thought  no  more 
about  it,  only  adding  that  it  must  have  been  rather  dirty  under 
the  bridge ;  another  time  she  would  advise  them  to  find  a 
cleaner  place. 

"I  suppose  it  was  'T  spy'  you  were  playing  at,"  she  said,  and 
she  did  not  notice  that  no  one  answered  her. 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  passed  quietly  enough. 

Hugh  and  Freda  were  rather  imusually  quiet,  at  which 
their  ^Mother  and  elder  sister  rejoiced. 

"I  do  hope,"  said  Sybil,  as  she  drove  home  Avith  Mrs. 
Kingley,   leaving   the   younger  ones  to   follow   as  they  had 


NOT    QUITE   TRUE. 


35 


come,  "I  do  hope  those  Frere  children,  though  they  are 
younger,  wiU  have  a  good  influence  upon  Hugh  and  the  girls, 
Freda  especially.  She  has  been  getting  wilder  and  wilder. 
And  Helena  is  such  a  lady-like,  well-bred  little  girl." 

"I  hope  so  too,"  said  her  Mother.  "I  own  I  was  a  little 
afraid  of  our  children  startling  the  Freres,  but  they  seem  to 
have  got  on  all  right." 

"Good    night,    dears,"    said    Mrs.    Frere    to    her    three 


children  an  hour  or  so  later.  "Vou  were  nappy  with  your 
new  friends,  I  hope  ?  I  think  they  seem  nice  children,  and  they 
were  very  quiet  and  well-behaved  to-day.  Leigh,  my  boy,  you 
look  half  asleep — are  yau  very  tired?" 

"My  eyes  are  tired,'   said  Leigh,  "and  my  head,  rather." 
"Well,  off  with  you  to  bed,  then,"  she  said  cheerfully.    She 
would  not  have  felt  or  spoken  so  cheerfully  if  she  could  have 
seen  into  her  little  daughter's  heart. 


36  NOT    QUITE   TRUE. 

Nurse  too  noticed  that  Leigh  looked  pale  and  heavy- 
eyed. 

She  said  she  was  afraid  he  had  somehow  caught  cold.  So 
she  gave  him  something  hot  to  drink  after  he  was  in  bed,  and 
soon  he  was  fast  asleep,  breathing  peacefully. 

"He  can't  be  very  bad,"  thought  Helena,  "if  he  sleeps  so 
quietly. 

But  though  she  tried  not  to  be  anxious  about  him,  she  her- 
self could  not  succeed  in  going  to  sleep. 

She  tossed  about,  and  dozed  a  little,  and  then  woke 
up  again — wider  awake  each  time,  it  seemed  to  her.  It 
was  not  all  anxiety  about  Leigh ;  the  truth  was,  her  con- 
science was  not  at  peace ;  she  felt  as  if  she  deserved  to  be 
anxious  about  her  little  brother,  for  she  saw  clearly  now, 
how  she  had  been  to  blame — first,  for  giving  in  to  the  Kingleys 
in  doing  what  she  knew  her  ]\Iother  would  not  have  approved 
of,  and  besides,  and  even  worse  than  that — in  concealing  the 
wrong-doing,  and  telling  what  was  "not  quite  true"  to  her 
trusting  Mother. 

The  tears  forced  their  way  into  Helena's  eyes  when 
she  owned  this  to  herself,  and  at  last  she  felt  that  she 
could  bear  it  no  longer. 

She  got  softly  out  of  bed  without  waking  Nurse,  and  made 
her  way  to  the  little  room  where  Willie  slept  alone. 

"Willie,"  she  said  at  the  door,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
but  Willie  Iieard  her.  He,  too,  for  a  wonder,  was  not 
able  to  sleep  well  to-niglnt,  and  he  at  once  sat  straight  up  in 
bed. 

"Yes,  Nelly,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  though  frightened  voice, 
"what  is  it?    Is  Leigh  ill?" 

"No,"  Helena  replied :  "at  least,  T  hope  not,  though 
I'm  awfully  unhappy  about  him.  It's  partly  that  and 
partly — everything,  Willie — all  we  did  this  afternoon.    And 


NOT    QUITE   TRUji.  37 

worst  of  all,"  and  here  poor  Nelly  had  hard  work  to  choke 
down  a  lump  that  began  to  come  in  her  throat,  "I  didn't  tell 
Mamma  the  truth,  when  she  asked  what  we  were  doing,  you 
remember,  Willie." 

"Yes,"  said  Willie,  "I  remember.  You  said  we  were  hiding, 
and  so  we  were." 

"But  it  wasn't  quite  true  the  way  I  let  her  think  it," 
persisted  Helena.  "Even  if  the  words  were  true,  the  thinking 
wasn't.  And  it  has  made  me  so  dreadfully  unhappy.  I  didn't 
know  how  to  wait  till  the  morning  to  tell  her — I  know  I 
shan't  go  to  sleep  all  night,"  and  she  did  indeed  look  very 
white  and  miserable. 

Willie  considered ;  he  had  good  ideas  sometimes,  though 
Helena  often  called  him  slow  and  stupid. 

"I  know  what,"  he  said.  "You  shall  write  a  letter  to 
Mamma — now,  this  minute.  I've  got  paper  and  ink  and  pens 
and  everything,  in  my  new  birthday  writing-case,  and 
I've  got  matches.  Since  my  birthday.  Papa  said  I  might  have 
them  in  my  room." 

For  Willie  was  a  very  careful  little  boy.  If  there  was 
no  likelihood  of  his  "setting  the  Thames  on  fire,"  his 
Father  had  said  once,  "there  was  even  less  fear  of  his 
setting  the  house  on  fire,"  and  though  Willie  did  not  quite 
understand  about  the  "Thames" — how  could  a  riz'er  burn? 
— he  saw  that  Papa  meant  something  nice,  so  he  felt  quite 
pleased. 

And  the  next  morning",  the  first  thing  Mrs.  Frere  saw  on 
her  toilet-table  was  a  note  addressed  rather  shakily  in  pencil, 
to  "dear  Mamma." 

It  was  only  a  few  lines,  but  it  made  her  hurry  to  throw  on 
her  dressing-gown  and  hasten  to  the  nursery. 

"How  is  Leigh?"  were  her  first  words  to  Nurse. 

"He's  got  a  little  cold  in  his  head,  ma'am,  but  nothing 


38  NOT    QUITE   TRUE. 

much,"  was  the  cheerful  reply,  and  Mamma  saw  by  the  child's 
face  that  there  were  no  signs  of  anything  worse. 

"But,  Miss  Helena,"  Nurse  went  on,  "has  had  a  bad  night, 
and  her  head  is  aching,  so  I  thought  it  better  to  keep  her  in  bed 
to  breakfast." 

Poor  Nelly !  she  had  not  much  appetite  for  breakfast,  and 
the  first  thing  she  did  when  Mamma's  dear  face  appeared  at  the 
door  was  to  burst  into  tears. 

But  such  tears  do  good,  and  still  more  relief  was  the 
telling  the  whole  story,  ending  up  with — 

"Oh,  Mamma,  dear  Mamma,  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  I  had 
told  you  what  was  not  quite  true.  And  Willie  feels  just 
the  same." 

For  Willie  bad  crept  in  too,  looking  very  grave,  and  wink- 
ing his  eyes  hard  to  keep  from  crying. 

It  was  all  put  right,  of  course;  there  was  really  no 
need  for  their  Mother  to  show  them  where  they  had  been 
wrong.  They  knew  it  so  well.  And  Leigh  did  not 
get  ill,  after  all. 

Freda  Kingley  had  had  a  lesson  too,  I  am  glad  to  say. 

That  very  afternoon  she  and  Hugh  walked  over  to 
Hailing  Park,  to  "find  out"  if  Leigh  was  all  right. 

And  this  gave  Mrs.  Frere  a  good  opportunity  of  showing 
the  kind-hearted  but  thoughtless  children  the  risk  they 
had  run  of  getting  themselves  and  their  little  friends  into  real 
trouble — above  all,  by  concealing  their  foolish  plav,  and  caus- 
ing Nelly  and  her  little  brothers  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives 
to  act  at  all  deceitfully. 

"You  Avill  be  afraid  to  let  them  play  with  us  any  more," 
said  Freda  very  sadly,  "and  Fm  sure  I  don't  wonder." 

"No  dear,"  said  her  new  friend.  "On  the  contrarv,  I  shall 
now  feel  sure  that  I  may  trust  you  and  Hugh  and 
Maggie." 


J        ^"l/u 


40 


NOT   QUITE   TRUE. 


Freda  grew  red  with  pleasure. 

"You  may  indeed,"  she  said;  "I  promise  you  we  won't 
lead  them  into  mischief  and — and  if  ever  we  do,  we'll  tell  you 
all  about  it  at  once." 

Mrs.  Frere  laughed  at  this  quaint  way  of  putting  it. 

"I  don't  think  my  children  will  be  any  the  worse  for  a  little 
more  'running  wild'  than  they  have  had,"  she  said. 

"And  we  won't  be  any  the  worse  for  having  to  think  a  little 
before  we  rush  off  on  some  fun,"  said  Freda.  "I  really  never 
did  see  before  how  A-ery  easy  it  would  be  to  get  into  telling 
regular  stories,  if  you  don't  take  care." 


'-   y 


IT'S  a  welly  aiixietious  thing,  yoasting  chestnuts  is," 
Rupert  said,  shaking  his  head  seriously. 
Rupert  is  only  four  years  old,  but  he  is  very 
fond  of  grand  words.  He  speaks  quite  plainly  and 
nicely.  Nurse  says  (excepting  the  z''s  and  r'jr),  only,  of  course, 
he  cannot  remember  always  just  the  shape  of  the  big  words; 
but  he  uses  much  grander  ones  than  I  do,  though  I  am 
nearly  six. 

But  he  is  the  nicest  little  boy  in  all  the  world,  and  we  do 
love  eacli  other  better  than  anybody  else  at  all,  after 
Mother  and  Father. 

We  made  what  Rupert  calls  an  "arranglement"  about 
always  being  friends  with  each  other;  that  was  the  night  we 
roasted  the  chestnuts. 


6 — Cliiisti'ias   Fairy. 


41 


42 


IN  THE  CHIMNEY  CORNER. 


It  v/as  one  of  the  most  interesting  things  we  had  ever  done 
— and  then  to  be  allowed  to  do  it  alone !  You  see,  this  was 
the  way. 

It  was,  the  dreadfullest  day  we  can  remember  in  all  our 
lives. 

Because  you  know,  first  of  all,  Mother  was  so  ill.  And  then 
there  was  abirthda)-  party  we  were  to  have  gone  to. 


And  Sarah,  who  is  the  housemaid,  said  she  didn't  see 
why  we  couldn't  go  just  the  same,  and  Nurse  said  very 
sharp!  }• : 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  them  go,  I  can  tell  you,  with  things 
as  they  are." 

And  then  she  said,  in  another  kind  of  voice : 


"  Rupert  knelt  down  on  the  rug.' 


44  !>'  THE  CHIMNEY  CORNER. 

"Just  sujapose  they  had  to  be  sent  for  to  go  in  to  the 
mistress " 

And  then  she  went  away  again  into  Mother's  dressing- 
room. 

That  was  another  horrid  thing,  that  nobody  seemed  to  be 
able  to  look  after  us  at  all ;  we  could  have  got  into  all  sorts  of 
mischief  if  we  had  wanted,  but  everything  was  so  dreadful  that 
it  made  us  not  want. 

There  were  two  doctors,  who  went  and  came  several 
times,  and  someone  they  called  Nurse,  but  she  wasn't  our 
Nurse. 

And  our  Nurse  could  not  be  in  the  nursery  with  us,  but 
kept  shutting  herself  up  in  Mother's  dressing-room,  and  that 
made  us  be  getting  into  everybody's  way. 

So  at  last,  when  evening  came.  Nurse  sent  us  down  to  the 
drawing-room,  because  somebody  had  let  the  nursery  fire 
go  almost  out,  and  she  told  us  to  stay  there  and  be  good, 
and  Father  said  he  would  perhaps  come  and  sit  with  us 
by-and-by. 

But   I   don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  there  so 
long  if  Sarah  had  not  brought  us  a  plate  of  chestnuts,  and 
shown  us  how  to  roast  them. 

(We  feel  sure  that  Nurse  would  not  have  allowed  it  by 
ourselves,  and  would  have  called  it  "playing  with  fire,"  but 
Father  looked  in  at  us  once,  and  did  not  stop  us  at  all,  but 
onlv  said  we  were  very  good,  and  Cook  and  Sarah  kept 
looking  in  too,  and  they  were  very  kind,  only  rather  quiet  and 
queer"). 

So  that  was  how  it  was  that  we  came  to  be  allowed  to  be 
roasting  chestnuts  in  the  drawing-room  by  ourselves,  which 
does  seem  a  little  funny,  if  you  did  not  know  about  that 
dreadful  day. 

"There's  onlv  two  left  now,"  Rupert  said. 


IN  THE  CHIMNEY  CORNER.  45 

We  hadn't  eaten  all  the  plateful,  of  course,  because  so  many 
of  them,  when  they  popped,  had  popped  quite  into  the  fire,  and 
we  were  not  to  try  to  get  them  out. 

We  had  roasted  one  each  for  Sarah,  and  for  Cook,  and 
for  Nurse,  and  for  Father,  and  of  course  the  biggest  of 
all  for  Mother. 

We  thought  she  might  enjoy  it  when  she  got  better.  And 
they  were  all  done,  and  there  were  only  two  left  besides  what 
we  had  eaten  and  lost. 

So  we  put  them  together  on  the  bar  to  roast,  and 
Rupert  said : 

"One  for  you,  and  one  for  me.  Yours  is  the  light  one,  and 
mine  is  the  dark  one." 

And  I  said : 

"Yes,  and  let  us  do  them  as  Sarah  did  with  two  of  them, 
and  try  if  they  will  keep  together  till  they  are  properly  done, 
and  then  it  will  be  as  if  we  kept  good  friends  and  loved  each 
other  always." 

So  that  was  what  Rupert  called  the  "anxietious"  part, 
because,  you  know,  one  of  them  might  have  flown  into  the  fire 
before  the  other  was  roasted,  and  we  were  so  excited  about  it 
that  T  believe  we  should  have  cried. 

But  they  were  the  nicest  chestnuts  of  all  the  plateful,  and 
that  was  the  nicest  thing  of  all  that  long  day  that  had  so  many 
nasty  ones  in  it. 

For  the  dark  chestnut  and  the  light  one  kept  together  all 
the  time,  and  split  quite  quietly  and  comfortably,  and  began 
to  have  a  lovely  smell,  and  then  we  thought  it  was  fair  to  rake 
them  off. 

"Those  chestnuts  were  welly  fond  of  each  other,"  said 
Rupert,  in  his  solemnest  way,  while  they  were  cooling  in  the 
fender.     "Like  3^ou  and  me,  Nella." 

"And    so    we'll    promise    on    our    word-of-honors    to    be 


46  IN  THE  CHIMNEY  CORNER. 

friends  like  them  and  love  each  other  for  always  and  always," 
I  said. 

And  we  held  each  other's  hands,  and  when  the  chestnuts 
were  cooled  and  peeled,  ate  them  up,  and  enjoyed  them  most 
of  all  the  chestnuts. 

But  after  we  had  made  that  play  last  as  long  as  we  could, 
and  it  grew  later  and  later,  it  began  to  seem  miserabler  than 
ever. 

And  nobody  came  to  take  us  to  bed,  although  it  did 
feel  so  dreadfully  like  bedtime,  and  nobody  brought  us  any 
bread-and-milk,  and  chestnuts  do  not  really  make  a  good  sup- 
per, even  if  you  have  roasted  them  yourself.  And  I  tried  to 
tell  Rupert  "The  Steadfast  Tin  Soldier,"  but  he  grew  cross 
because  I  couldn't  tell  it  as  well  as  Mother. 

So  I  said : 

"Well,  let  us  lie  down  here  on  the  rug,  and  perhaps  if  we 
make  believe,  it  will  seem  like  going  to  bed." 

But  Rupert  said,  how  could  he  go  to  bed  without  saying 
his  prayers,  and  he  was  so  tired  and  cross  that  I  said : 

"Well,  you  say  yours,  and  I'll  hear  them." 

And  so  Rupert  knelt  down  on  the  rug,  and  said  his  prayers, 
and  I  heard  them ;  at  least,  I  mean,  we  tried :  but  I  couldn't 
always  remember  what  came  next,  and  then  lie  remembered 
that  he  wanted  ^Mother,  and  burst  out  crying. 

So  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  any  more,  and  I  could  only 
huggle  him,  as  he  calls  it,  and  wipe  his  eyes  on  my  frock,  and 
w'e  sat  there  and  huggled  each  other. 

And  I  think  we  fell  asleep  in  the  chimney  corner  after 
that. 

At  least,  the  next  thing  we  remember  is  being  picked  up  by 
Father  and  Xurse,  and  Xurse  carried  Rupert  upstairs,  and 
Father   carried   me. 

And   I   said : 


IN    THE    CHIMNEY    CORNER.  47 

"We've  tried  to  be  good,  Father,  but  we  were  obliged  to 
go  to  sleep  on  the  floor — just  there;  we  really  and  truly 
couldn't  keep  awake  any  longer." 

And  Father  did  not  think  it  naughty,  I  am  sure,  for  he 
kissed  us  both  ever  so  many  times  at  the  nursery  door,  with  a 
great  big  hug,  although  he  went  away  without  speaking. 

And  Nurse  undressed  us  as  quickly  as  she  could,  and  as 
Rupert  calls  it,  '"scused"  our  baths,  for  we  were  so  dreadfully 
sleepy;  and  I  did  think  once  that  Nurse  seemed  to  be  crying, 
but  I  was  too  tired  to  notice  any  more. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  the  dreadfullest  day  we  have  ever 
known.  • 

It  began  to  be  happier  quite  soon  next  day,  for  Granny 
came,  and  stayed  with  us,  and  had  time  to  love  us  very  much. 

We  told  her  about  the  chestnuts,  and  she  thought  it 
ever  so  nice. 

And  she  told  us  something  too,  two  things,  and  one  was 
very  beautiful,  and  one  was  very  dreadful. 

And  the  beautiful  thing  was  that  God  had  sent  us  a  baby 
sister  on  that  dreadful  evening.  But  then  He  saw  that  He 
could  take  better  care  of  her  than  even  Mother  and  Nurse, 
and  He  loved  her  so  much  that  He  sent  an  angel  to  fetch 
her  away  again. 

And  though  we  were  sorry  not  to  have  the  little  sister  (and 
that  was  another  reason  to  make  Rupert  and  me  love  each 
other  all  the  more,  Granny  said),  yet  she  told  us  how  beau- 
tiful it  was  to  know  that  Baby  Lucy  would  never  do  a 
naughty  thing,  or  say  a  naughty  word,  but  always  be  kept 
quite  safe  now. 

And  the  dreadful  thing  was — but  I  can  only  say  it  in 
a  whisper — that  God  had  almost  taken  Mother  away,  to  be 
with  Baby  Lucy  too. 

But  He  looked  down  at  us,  and  at  Father,  Granny  said, 
and  was  sorry  for  us ;  and  T  think  the  time  when  He  was  sorry 


48 


IN    THE    CHIMNF.y    CORNER. 


was  when  Rupert  was  crying,  and  I  was  tryiug  to  hear  his 
prayers,  because  He  must  ha\-e  seen  that  I  could  not  be  hkp- 
Mother  to  Rupert,  not  however  much  I  tried. 

And  so  He  was  sorry  for  us,  and  Mother  staj^ed. 


^^"■^ 


